Lose Myself
by Aeliia
Summary: Marco was dead. Jean was lost.


If there had ever been a person that deserved to live the most, it would have been him.

Him; with his soft black hair that slipped through Jean's fingers when he ran his hand through it after an extensive night or gripped it during a passionate kiss. Him; with his warm, light brown eyes that were always glowing and full of hope. Him; with his smile that never seemed to go away, always urging others to go on even in the most desperate situations, shining the way for others to follow. Him; his charred bones becoming a brutal reminder to Jean that his light was gone; the bright smile replaced with a horrifying grimace.

Marco was dead. Jean was lost.

He gave up his hopes, dreams, and ambitions for Marco. The Military Police was cast aside, put into the back of his mind where he hoped it would never resurface again. He didn't want to imagine the beautiful future the two could have had together sharing an apartment in the interior, leading good lives, and being wealthy freeloaders. He could have had that. He could have lived that way forever, not having to see another titan in his life.

But he didn't want to without Marco. No, instead, he joined the Survey Corps; but for what? To prove that he wasn't a spineless, hollow shell of a boy that had nothing to lose? Yes, he thought. That was it exactly. He joined to become stronger. He joined to remember the one he had lost.

Now, as Jean was in his bunk bed in the boy's barrack of the Survey Corps base, all of these thoughts went through his head. The decision to join had been on the spur of the moment; among the retreating crowd of trainees he hadn't known what to do, what to think. Everything from that point on was a blur. Packing whatever personal belongings they had, loading the carts, and taking off.

He thought he had known true fear in Trost. The Survey Corps, however, managed to top that. To think about having to go out into the world in which the titans occupied scared him—more than he would ever admit to anyone, even himself. He realized how much he did not want to die. How much he did not want to end up like Marco.

He tossed and turned in bed, sleep not coming easily with his morbid thoughts. Sighing, he dropped down from his bunk and quietly shuffled to the door of the room, not wanting to wake up any of his fellow graduates.

Quietly opening the wooden door, Jean exited the room and crossed the hall to the boy's bathroom.

Walking in, it brought back so many memories. Memories of him and Marco splashing each other playfully, Marco complaining when Jean sometimes got a handful of water and dumping it on him. The complaining would stop as soon as the brunet kissed him, though. Jean thought the freckled boy looked even better when he was wet—in both ways.

And the late nights. The hushed moans of both boys as their bodies collided within the barracks, only daring to do so every now and then in fear of someone waking up. When they did, though, it was heaven. Every moment spent panting and gasping for air was a blessing from the God above. He loved how Marco could turn him on so easily, sometimes without even meaning to. He loved how his light touches and smooth caresses would turn more rapid and frantic over time with the nearing end.

And sometimes there were other late nights. Nights where the moon shone brightly in the sky, stray beams of light cascading upon their horror-filled world and lighting the way for two pairs of feet sneaking away from the sleeping quarters to have some peace and quiet. These nights were Jean's favorite. The ones where he could escape from the constant threat of the titans, the many long hours of training to fight said titans, and the assholes that always seemed to want a fight—or more specifically, Eren—were always a welcome relief.

Jean longed for Eren to be his only problem. Instead he had to deal with losing his best friend. In the few days that had passed since Marco's body was found, the brunet no longer had dreams; only nightmares. He could only imagine how painful it had to have been; his friend's beautiful body damaged forever as a titan took off his arm and face.

He now understood his rival's burning hate for the creatures. They were the source to all of the problems in his—no, everyone's—life, after all. He wanted to murder the hideous being that had killed his beloved Marco. Slice off its arms and legs, gouge its eyes out, torture it. If only they felt pain.

He went to the sink and ran cold water, splashing his face in an attempt to clear his mind. He couldn't push Marco out of his thoughts, the freckled boy lingering in his mind at all times. He almost wished the boy had never enlisted or, better yet, never existed. It seemed cruel, but it was grudgingly true. If Marco had never existed, he wouldn't have had to worry about the titans or surviving another day. He wouldn't have had to go through the pain he did to finally pass on the day they would have been safe. A world like this wasn't worthy of someone of Marco's being; it had been graced just to have his presence.

Life truly wasn't fair. Jean now knew that. Unfortunately, it had taken Marco's death for him to realize the depth of the statement.

The brunet trudged back to the sleeping quarters, barely remembering to turn off the sink before he left the bathroom. As he climbed back into bed, he wondered what Marco was doing now, wherever he was. Hopefully resting. He had had a tiring life for such a short lifespan.

Finally, weariness consumed Jean when he finally found a comfortable position. He fell asleep with his arms outstretched, holding someone who wasn't truly there.


End file.
